by Matt Witten
"What if the murderer comes back?" Latree said as he downed a spoonful of Rice Krispies.
"He won't," I said in my deepest, most authoritative voice, intended to portray utter certainty.
Charizard looked at me, a milk mustache on his solemn face. "Why not?"
How many "why" questions does the average child ask his parents? I'm thinking at least thirty per day, beginning at about age two and a half. By that estimate, now that Charizard was five and a half, the number of "why" questions he'd asked me had reached a total of approximately thirty-three thousand.
"He just won't," I replied. "He didn't mean to kill Mr. Meckel, anyway."
Latree pointed his finger at me like it was a gun. "What if he comes into school with a machine gun this time and shoots everybody, like at Columbine?"
Oh, Lord. Every year around the Columbine anniversary, the TV news stations while away the odd hours replaying horrific videotapes of dead children, and every year we religiously turn off the TV whenever that stuff comes on. It's way too disturbing. In general, we don't let our kids watch most news programs, because they present such a warped, inaccurate perspective of the world. But evidently some TV pollution had slipped past our defenses.
Andrea was already off at her community college, teaching her eight a.m. class, so this little piece of parenting was up to me.
"Latree," I said, "and Charizard, too. Listen to me. Nobody will hurt you today. I promise."
"What if we get run over by a car?" Charizard asked brightly. Sometimes he likes contradicting me just for the fun of it. "Or what if a big man steps on our shoes by mistake. Or the teacher yells at us, and hurts our feelings."
"Okay, somebody might hurt you," I admitted. "But nobody will kill you. On purpose, anyway."
"But they might kill you, Dad," Latree said gravely. "Right?"
"Of course not."
"If I was the killer, I'd kill you," said Latree. "Because you're such a great detective, and you're gonna find out who he is."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Look, I was safe and sound the other times I caught the murderers, right? And I'll be safe and sound this time."
"Yeah, because you're really fast," said Charizard. "And tricky. Like, if somebody tries to shoot at you, you can just duck, like Rapidash." Rapidash was another fire Pokémon. "And then the bullet hits the wall, and then you jump at them like Rhyhorn, using a ram attack—"
"Exactly. Now enough already. Finish your breakfast." I picked up Latree's latest find, one of the old Wizard of Oz novels, and handed it to him. "Here. Read a book."
Latree was so surprised I was asking him to read—usually I'm bugging him to stop reading—that he picked up the book without further comment. Meanwhile Charizard began treating me to obscure details about psychic Pokémon, and that was the end of our heavy discussion, thank God. Talking to kids about death makes me uncomfortable. I've never quite figured out how to pull it off.
Then again, I've never figured out how to talk to myself about death.
As the kids ate, I thought about the murder for a while. Then I headed into the other room and called Laura. "Good morning," I said. "You taking Adam into school today?"
"I don't know. Maybe later. I can't decide if it would be good for him or not."
Good question.
"I feel so guilty putting him through all this," Laura said. "Even though it's not really my fault."
As I listened, I felt a wave of guilt that I had ever doubted Laura's innocence. I'd make it up to her, though. By God, I was going to get Laura and Adam out of the purgatory they were in.
"Anyway," Laura continued, "for now we're gonna stay home and hang out and play Monopoly."
"Sounds like fun. Can I talk to him for a minute?"
I explained what I wanted, and she hesitated. "I'm not sure if I want to get Adam involved," she finally said. "It might be too hard on him."
"I'll be as gentle as I can. But I could use his help."
Laura fretted for a while, then put Adam on the phone. "Hi," he said nervously.
"Adam, I have a question for you. Remember when your mom dropped you off at the library on Tuesday?"
"Yeah."
"And then she left to go see Mr. Meckel and smoke a cigarette, right? And then Susie came, with her two girls."
Adam was silent, listening.
"My question is, after Susie came, did she leave again? Did she leave you and Christine and Megan alone for a while?"
"I was playing Civilization," Adam finally said. "On the computer. I don't know if she left."
"You sure you can't remember?"
"I'm sorry. It’s a really complicated game. I wasn't thinking about anything else." He paused for a moment, then asked, "Do you think maybe Susie killed Mr. Meckel?"
I couldn't think of an evasive answer that would be good enough to fool Adam, so I said, "Maybe. But I don't think so. Listen, don't tell Christine or Megan. They might get upset."
"Yeah," said Adam. "They would."
I said good-bye and hung up. I was dying to ask Christine and Megan about their mother’s activities on Tuesday. But was there any graceful way of doing that?
A few minutes later, after Latree and I had our usual tug of war getting him to put down his book and tie his shoes, I drove the boys to school. We talked Pokémon the whole way, analyzing their relative fighting ability. I guess it was the kids' way of dealing with the violence that had entered our lives.
When we got to the school, the kids looked out at the flowers and candles and got quiet all of a sudden.
After a moment, Latree said, "Daddy, did Mr. Meckel have kids?"
"I think so, yes. Two teenagers."
"Oh." Then he and Charizard got out of the car.
"I love you, Latree. And you, Charizard."
"Don't forget, Daddy. Duck like Rapidash," Charizard said, and the two of them headed up the sidewalk toward the school.
I sat there and watched them go. The street in front of the school was pretty crowded. A lot of parents had driven their children to school today instead of putting them on the bus.
Several cars up, I spotted Susie Powell dropping off her two daughters. They looked tentative this morning, just like my kids.
Eight-year-old Christine was taking her six-year-old sister Megan by the hand and leading her into the school. Susie was watching them from her car.
I got out of my own car and walked up to Susie, leaning in her window. "Hi."
"Aauh!" she yelped, almost jumping out of her seat belt. Then she settled down with a nervous laugh. "You scared me."
"Sorry, didn't mean to. How are your girls doing?"
"Okay, I guess. Megan's a little freaked out."
"She's lucky to have such a sweet big sister." I watched Christine holding open the door for Megan. Both of them had long coltlike legs and light brown ponytails. I knew Christine reasonably well; she was in the after-school chess club I'd led the previous semester. She was alert and shiny eyed, one of only two girls in the chess club, and the only child in the whole school who had ever beaten Latree at chess. She'd actually beaten him twice.
Megan, on the other hand, I didn't know much about. I gathered she wasn't as high achieving as her older sister. Whenever Susie talked about the need for programs for gifted students, she didn't bring up Megan like she did Christine.
I hoped Megan's self-esteem wouldn't suffer as she rose through the educational system. I kind of identified with her. I mean, I'm no dim bulb myself, but compared to my brilliant, Einstein-like older brother, I was always in shadow. It wasn't until I hit my thirties that I began to realize how bright I actually was.
Susie brought me back to the present. She looked up at me and said eagerly, "So what were you doing breaking into Meckel's office? I asked Andrea yesterday, but she wouldn't say."
"That's because I hadn't told her yet." Actually, I'd asked Andrea to keep everyone in the dark, including our friends. Especially our friends.
I checked out Susie's righ
t arm, draped over the steering wheel. It looked pretty well toned, and I knew she worked out at the gym a lot. I tried to picture that arm swinging a trophy at Meckel—and a heavy flashlight at my skull.
"Did you find anything that might help Laura?"
Susie's baby blues looked open and honest. She was a good-looking woman, not Hollywood gorgeous but clean-cut Missouri farm-girl pretty. She even had freckles on the tip of her nose. She seemed guileless, but I knew that couldn't be true—no woman is ever guileless.
Though I suppose that’s true of men, too. And I could use some guile of my own right now. I wanted to sneak up sideways on Susie and interrogate her without her knowing it.
"I did find out some stuff," I said. "But I'm not sure if it’ll help Laura or hurt her."
"That sounds bad. What did you find out?"
"It turns out Adam didn't meet the criteria for the gifted program."
I eyed her closely, but all I saw was confusion. "What criteria are you talking about?"
Was she just playing dumb? "Meckel called me up and told me about it," I fibbed. "I assumed he called you, too."
"No, he didn't."
"Well, he decided to base entrance into the gifted program on Terra Nova scores."
"You're kidding me."
"You really didn't know?"
She either missed my skepticism or ignored it, and gave her head a disgusted shake. "Figures Meckel would come up with something incredibly stupid like that."
"He set the cutoff at ninety-five. And he did the preliminary scoring himself, so he could get his administrative business done in plenty of time. Anyway, it turns out Adam didn't make the cutoff. The cops think that's why Laura killed Meckel."
"He deserved it. What a jerk."
"Better not say that too loud, or you'll be a suspect," I said jokingly.
"Yeah, well, I almost mean it. You know what our kids are going through. Every morning when I take Christine to school, she starts crying. She's so miserable here. And Meckel didn't give a shit."
Still hanging on to the joking tone, I said, "By the way, I hope you have a good alibi for the cops. What is it you told me before, you and Elena were together all morning?"
"No, she and Barry came later. I was in the library with my kids, and Adam."
So far Susie's story matched what she had told me on Tuesday. "And when did Elena get there?" I asked.
"About the same time Barry did. A little before you. I can't imagine anybody would suspect Elena."
"Why not?"
"Well, because she's an elementary school teacher. Elementary school teachers don't kill people."
"She's not just a teacher, she's a parent. And her kid didn't make the 95 cutoff either. Did she know about that?"
"She didn't say anything."
"Did she seem . . . flustered?"
Susie looked at me questioningly. "I wouldn't say flustered. We were both pretty anxious about what would happen at the meeting."
"Did you know about your kid not making the cutoff?"
Susie's questioning look turned downright hostile. Her arm came off the steering wheel. "What the hell is this, Jake?"
"Susie—"
"You think I did it?"
"I have to follow every lead."
"I can't believe you'd try to trick me like this—"
"Look, it’s for Laura's sake."
"Get real. I didn't kill Sam Meckel. You're not helping Laura one bit, you're just acting stupid."
Then she rolled up her window and drove off. These Missouri farm girls are tough.
I wondered, how would Susie act if she killed somebody by mistake? Would she be tough enough to fake like it never happened, and several minutes later act essentially normal?
I checked my watch. Eight-fifty. I was supposed to meet my lawyer at Madeline's Espresso Bar in ten minutes.
But maybe I should try to get hold of Elena first, before Susie called and warned her against me. I entered the school and headed up the hall toward Elena's fourth-grade classroom. There were a lot of flowers and candles inside the school, too. Usually at this time of day, before the morning bell rang, the school was filled with laughing, shouting, running children. But not today. Everybody was muted. The kids walked slowly and stiffly, like they'd been taken over by pod people. The hallway monitors stood by awkwardly with their arms folded in front of them, not sure what to do with themselves when there were no rowdy kids to control.
The mood in Elena's classroom was somber, too.
Most of the kids were fidgeting silently in their chairs. Elena was up at her desk whispering softly with a chubby girl wearing a black T-shirt.
I walked over to them. "Excuse me, Elena," I said in a normal tone, and instantly felt weird because "normal" sounded way too loud today.
She waved hello. I relegated my voice to a whisper. "Could we talk for a minute? Privately?"
Elena looked around the classroom. "Sure," she said quietly. "Doesn't look like they'll be acting too wild today." She stood up. "Class, I'll be right back."
She led me down the hall to the teachers' lounge. "It’s going to be quite a day," she said. "Assemblies, grief counseling . . ."
We stepped into the lounge, and she shut the door. Except for us, the place was empty. "How's the investigating going?" she asked.
"I'm doing my darnedest," I said, as I tried to think up some way to question Elena without making her mad at me.
Then I got mad at myself for even worrying about that. You never caught S. Spade feeling bad about hurting his suspects' feelings.
"I went to see Laura last night, brought her some Heavenly Hash ice cream," Elena said. "God, she needed it. She was so depressed."
I decided on my approach. "Listen, do you know a kid named Mark Robinson?"
"Sure, he was in my class last year. Why?"
"Tell me about him."
Elena sat down in one of the plastic chairs that ringed the central table. I sat, too. "Okay kid," Elena said. "Not much of a student. But he didn't cause me too much trouble, after I had him sit up front."
"What kind of trouble did he cause?"
"Oh, you know. Talking during class, pulling the girls' hair, making loud farts. . . ."
Sounded like the stuff I used to do as a kid. "Did he strike you as ADD or ADHD?"
Elena scratched her head. She was about thirty-five, with long black hair and the thick red lipstick that Cuban-American women often seem to favor.
She'd been teaching at High Rock for two years now. I wondered, where would Elena go if she didn't get tenure? Elementary school jobs are hard to come by in upstate New York. She might have to go teach in some inner-city school in Troy, Albany, or Schenectady. Even worse, she might have to move herself and her daughter Luce down to New York City or Poughkeepsie or somewhere.
And then in two or three years, she'd have to deal with the tenure torture all over again.
"That’s a tough question to answer," Elena was saying. "ADD is tricky. A lot of kids, if they're not doing well in school, and the work just feels too hard, they start to lose their confidence. And they sort of give up, you know? But which comes first? Do they do badly and then time out, or do they tune out because they have ADD—and then do badly?"
"Good question. So with Mark, you felt he was tuning out?"
"Maybe a little," she said guiltily. "I did my best, tried to give him individual attention and everything. But it was hard. He wasn't one of my slowest students, just below average. Kids like Mark tend to get lost in the classroom. See, Jake, when I've got thirty-six little muchachos and muchachas in my class, if s not just the gifted kids that suffer. If s everybody."
I nodded intently, still trying to draw her out.
"But some sort of attention-deficit disorder?" Elena shrugged. "Personally, with a lot of these kids, I think they just drug them up so they'll sit quietly in class. It’s easier to throw drogas at problem kids than reorient your teaching so you can reach them." She leaned forward confidentially. "Mark's teache
r this year—that new girl, Melanie—between you and me, she's no prize."
So Elena agreed with Mark's parents on that. "Did you ever see Mark get violent?" I asked.
She stared at me. "Violent? Are you thinking...?"
"Maybe. He's big enough."
"God, how horrible." She shivered. "I hope it’s not him."
"So did he ever act violent in your class?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "He used to tease the other kids, and put them down… Maybe I saw him pushing kids around at recess sometimes, but that was about it."
"I wonder if he might’ve gotten worse this year."
"I don't know. If he's having trouble with his teacher, or there's problems at home…"
Problems at home—I thought about his parents' endless losing battle against global capitalism, i.e. Kinko's.
"Why don't you talk to Irene Topor, the school psychologist?" Elena suggested. "She might know more about him, if she tested him for ADHD."
Sure, and no doubt she'd feel perfectly at ease violating confidentiality rules and telling a total stranger about a young child who was under her care.
I hoped I'd softened Elena up with questions about Mark Robinson. Now I'd try to slip in the more personal stuff.
"So on Tuesday morning, did you see Mark or any other kids besides, you know, the kids in the library?"
"No."
"I forget. When did you get to the library?"
"Maybe seven-twenty. I was in there chatting with Susie for about ten or fifteen minutes."
Hmm. My antennae went up. I had gotten the impression from Susie that Elena wasn't in the library all that long. Was Elena trying to pad her time in there, to beef up her alibi?
"What about Barry, by the way? Where was he?"
"In the library too, the whole time. Except for when he went to the bathroom for a minute." She eyed me sharply. "You don't suspect Barry, do you?"
"I suspect everybody. Even you," I joked.
The school bell rang. Elena stood up. "Saved by the bell. You won't be able to wring a confession out of me, because I have to get back to class. Or assembly, whatever."
"Hey, not to change the subject," I said casually, "but have you heard the Terra Nova results yet?"
"No, it always takes a while before we get the results back. They're scored by BOCES down in Albany."